


Lightweight

by ghosttownmayor



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exy (All For The Game), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Panic Attacks, he's gonna get help tho, i guess, idk how to tag it, it's in the eye of the beholder, it's rlly more implied, kevin deserves better, kevin does not have a fun time in this one lads, so also - Freeform, there's not a lot of comfort though so be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosttownmayor/pseuds/ghosttownmayor
Summary: Practice is cancelled. Kevin's evening stretches out in front of him, unbearably empty. The list of things he wants to fill it with is predictable. As is the fact that sooner or later those habits will have consequences.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Lightweight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I've spent a lot of quarantine reading fanfiction, and finally got inspired to write one myself again. It might be a bit messy. Also just a warning: the other foxes (as much as I love them) aren't characterized as very nice people here. It's meant to be from Kevin's perspective. Please don't bite my head off for it. Thanks! Enjoy this mess.

He was going to be a professional exy player. He was going to be a history professor. Kevin grinned as he emptied the glass. He remembered his childhood diary. He was going to be an astronaut. The very first one to set foot on the sun. He’d bring a hose. He’d defeat a dragon and steal its scales. Make his skin fireproof. Yeah, he thought. He was going to do all that. For sure. He blew out all the air from his lungs and kept it out for as long as possible. His face went red. He wished a reporter was here. He wished they’d take a picture of him like this, red, bloated, drunk. Unforgivably graceless. He wished they’d put it on a cover, all nice and glossy. Release him from the insane impressions everyone had of him. Everyone including his own teammates. His hand reached for his phone. It found the bottle first. No complaints there. It wasn’t empty yet. It was allowed to be. The only promise he’d made to himself tonight was that he wouldn’t get a new one. No restrictions on this one. And hell. He’d promised a lot of things to his future self. Still did. For now, though, he was content with another two fingers gone. 

He clicked his phone on. His wallpaper was a portrait of Joan of Arc. She stared past him, at a glorious calling he was jealous of. Kevin was probably the only fox whose wallpaper wasn’t another fox. Except for Aaron’s, but Katelyn was basically a fox by extension. After another ten seconds that weren’t filled with anything, he unlocked his phone. There were only five icons on his homepage. Whatsapp, an app to keep track of Exy scores, Loseit, and a shortcut to Wikipedia. The university wanted them to have an active social media presence, but Neil and Andrew had lowered the bar so much that Kevin was freer in that regard than he had been in years. Instagram and Twitter were hidden away. He clicked open Whatsapp instead. A single glance was enough to see every conversation he’d ever had. He knew which one he wanted to look at now. The foxes groupchat was rarely active. The monsters had their own chat, and the girls did too. They only used the main groupchat if Wymack wanted to tell them something or -god forbid - they had to talk to Kevin for once. The latest message told them training was cancelled today. Wymack had gotten into a minor car crash. Nothing bad, but he wasn’t in the mood to herd cats today. Renee wished him a nice evening. Nicky sent a thumbs-up emoji. No one else said anything, but they’d all read it. Kevin sighed. He was bored. All of his homework was done. He opened up the Exy app and pulled their latest score. Again. He grinded his teeth. It sucked. Not just from his perspective this time. Objectively. Even Wymack had admitted it was bad. And then out of all the times to take a day off, he chose now. It was like he didn’t even care. If Kevin had been in that car he’d be on the field. All four limbs attached or not. He pulled himself up. Something unpleasant rose up to the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down before he had to taste too much of anything. He almost fell over bending down to grab his shoes, but made it down the stairs safely if not elegantly. Quite the accomplishment if he did say so himself. 

The gym was a ten minute drive and a thirty minute walk away. He was sober enough not to want to drive and drunk enough not to want to walk. Seeing as Kevin hadn’t attained the power of flight yet, the bus was the only remaining option. A teenager stared at him. Kevin didn’t know what he was staring at. The queen of exy, or the queen of exy sitting on public transport drunk as all hell? Kevin didn’t care. He stared back. Thankfully, the lady at the gym desk didn’t look up at all. Kevin didn’t bother changing. His current clothes would do. He’d wash them tomorrow. Along with all the other clothes on his floor he’d promised his future self he’d wash the day after he wore them. Kevin sank to the floor and allowed himself a minute to breathe. This entire floor of the gym appeared to be empty. He loaded his workout playlist, then neglected to press play. The noise would be too much. The exy scores were what he needed to see. They were enough to get him off his ass and onto the rowing machine. His breath quickened faster than it usually did, but he pushed on. The lightheadedness from the lack of oxygen only strengthened the effects of the alcohol. He’d left the bottle at home. He now regretted doing so. Against all prior evidence, he felt he might be able to lift more weight after another sip. They did say to drink for courage, no?  
He stumbled of the rowing machine and did a few halfhearted sit-ups. It was nothing like his usual workout routine. Nothing mechanical about it. He wasn’t chasing progress or athletic competence now, even though he told himself he was. He was chasing a feeling. A certain kind of burn he knew most of the other foxes never pushed themselves far enough to feel. Not as badly as he did, anyway. That burn was why he was the queen of exy and the rest of them weren’t on the board. Not in his opinion, anyway. It was also the only reason he played at all. That burn was the only high that could sometimes replace the daze of alcohol. But he couldn’t get to it now. Sure, his abdomen hurt. Spikes of pain radiated upwards and downwards. His lower back lifted from the floor and came back down painfully with every fought-for breath. Kevin rolled onto his elbows and worked his way up from there. He took a weight, knowing full well he’d chew out any of the other foxes for trying to do that under any kind of influence. It could lead to injuries. It could. He knew that. 

He pictured it, as he pulled the weight up to his shoulder and let it down again. His motor control was impaired. It would be...understandable. If he were to accidentally drop it. If he were to accidentally injure himself. It wouldn’t reflect on his capabilities. Not in this state. He looked over his shoulder. His grip loosened a little. There was no one there. He held the weight more tightly again. His face tingled, covered in sweat and alcohol-induced pinpricks. There was no one at all in this part of the gym. The weight dropped. 

Kevin made a noise like a wounded animal. His mouth fell open. His hands grabbed his foot before his brain registered the pain. When it did, he closed his mouth. Pressed his lips together and bit them until he tasted iron. A lack of oxygen forced him to open his mouth again. He felt spit on his chin. His stomach churned. His head hurt. His foot didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected, but fuck. Fuck. It hurt more than he wanted to deal with. His breaths echoed in the gym. He started to wish he’d screamed spontaneously. Maybe the lady at the desk would’ve heard. Then he wouldn’t have had to consciously call for help. But no. He was Kevin Day. He didn’t do much without deliberation. He would have to deliberately call for help, though. Another wave of nausea hit him at the prospect. He suddenly felt very small. He wished he was sober. His skin felt wrong. Sweaty. Numb. He wanted out of it. Wanted the clarity of thought back that he’d so purposefully rejected earlier. God, this had been a mistake. The whole thing. He should’ve done home exercises until he passed out, not drink. He tried to figure out where the night could’ve been saved. He wished Wymack hadn’t cancelled the stupid fucking training. Everything would’ve been fine if he hadn’t. At least for tonight. Wymack. Could he call Wymack? No he fucking couldn’t. If Wymack didn’t want to deal with regular training, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to deal with this. Kevin pressed his forehead to his knees. It made the nausea better for a second, then made it much, much worse. He rolled onto his knees and threw up.

There was no one he could call. No one he wanted to see him like this. No one he trusted not to laugh. Take a picture and send it to the groupchat. Maybe Renee wouldn’t. But Renee barely knew him. And she didn’t like the parts she did know. Thought he was too harsh on the other foxes. Worse, the idea of her Christian pity made his hair stand on end in protest. He wasn’t calling anyone.

He tried to stand. He failed. Quietly so. He shuffled backwards to the rowing machine and tried again, using the seat as support. The leg that hadn’t been hurt quivered with the effort of supporting the one that had been, but it held. If he could get some kind of crutch, he could get to the front desk. Ask the lady to call someone. There was no crutch. He sat down on the rowing machine. He wondered how long he would have to wait before someone would come up here and find him. An embarrassingly long time, he decided. A thought crashed through his mind, unbidden. If he’d been in the nest, someone would’ve come for him by now. Maybe not because they loved him. Definitely not. But they would’ve been there anyway. He was seen as necessary there. Appreciated for it. Practice wouldn’t have been cancelled in the fucking first place. He wouldn’t have been allowed to slow down his metabolism with alcohol. There would’ve been other people in the gym. There always were. Something physical in his chest seemed to give. He lowered himself from the rowing machine. The bolts and the hard plastic seat dug into his back. His breath came in fits and starts. He didn’t feel like he had a brain anymore. He felt like his skull was just air. Like he was dissolving. The only physical part of him left was his foot, broken. Hurting. The rest of him was fleeing. Prickling. Sweating. Radiating. Running. Disconnecting. 

“Kevin?” 

“Kevin.”

“Kevin?”

“What the hell.”

He felt hands on his wrists. His eyes came back to him. Clicked back into their nerves. Neil was standing in front of him. There was something in his eyes that couldn’t be called concern, but also couldn’t be called confidence. 

“Kevin? What’s wrong?”

Neil had seen his share of accidents and things that bore the name of accidents but weren’t. He still struggled to know a panic attack when he felt it, but he damn sure knew one when he saw one. He sat down next to Kevin. Vomit and spit gleamed on his chin. Neil made a distasteful face. Kevin leaned away from him. He did it so clumsily Neil instantly knew he was drunk. The desk lady’s face flashed in front of his mind’s eye. He’d talk to her after he got Kevin out of here. He had other priorities now. He looked back into Kevin’s eyes. Saw recognition, but no reassurance. He still hadn’t answered his question. He asked it again. Kevin shrugged. The motion clearly cost him effort. Neil offered him his arm. This wasn’t the place. They could talk after they got out of here. Kevin shook his head.

“My foot.”

Neil looked at his foot. Kevin’s shoes were worn-out. From the outside, he could see nothing else wrong.

“Your foot?”

Kevin looked away.  
“Broken.”

Neil paused. He stared at Kevin. 

“Sorry. Your foot is broken?”

Kevin nodded, still not looking at him. Neil forgot all about the state Kevin was in. His mind instantly flashed to the same scoreboard Kevin had looked at when entering the gym.

“Shit.”

“Sorry,” Kevin murmured. 

“Can you…” play exy, he wanted to ask. He thought about how that would sound. “Can you stand?”

Kevin didn’t reply. Oh hell. 

“Okay. I’m calling Abby.”

Kevin’s hand gripped his wrist. Neil reflectively flinched, but then lowered his hand. Kevin shook his head. 

“Don’t.”

“Why?” There was a hint of scorn in his voice. It was bad enough that Kevin had gotten himself injured. Worse that he didn’t want to sort it out as fast as humanly possible, so he could get back on the field. Kevin didn’t reply. Neil called Abby. 

Seven hours later, at six in the morning, Wymack knocked on his apartment door. Kevin was sober. Kevin had poured every inch of energy he had left into staying that way. He’d known this knock was coming. He’d hidden away any traces of last night. All except his foot, which was in an embarrassingly large cast. There would be no signatures on it to liven it up. 

“It’s unlocked.”

Wymack’s face was not a reassuring sight. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. He sat down on the couch and faced Kevin. Sixty seconds ticked by.

“So?” Wymack finally asked.

“So what?” Kevin asked. It wasn’t a totally disingenuous question. Wymack could be asking about him or about his ability to play exy. A small, hopeful part of him wasn’t sure which one he was asking about now.

“So what the fuck happened last night?”

It didn’t entirely clear the issue up for Kevin. Part of him wanted to tell, but he wasn’t sure how much Wymack was asking for. The thought of giving him more information about his personal life than he wanted, only for it to be brushed of in the service of exy, made him want to shove Wymach off the couch before he’d even said anything truly negative. Kevin shrugged. Wymack sighed. He suddenly looked older than he was, which wasn’t all that young to start with. Something tugged in Kevin’s chest.

“Abby called me last night. Said Neil went to find Nicky’s phone at the gym and found you. Uhm...intoxicated. With that.” He gestured at Kevin’s broken foot.

“I guess Neil’s right then. That’s what happened.”

The silence stretched. It covered them both. The cruel opposite of a trauma blanket.

“Kevin.” Kevin didn’t respond. He was afraid he’d cry if he would. He had one of the worst headaches he’d ever had in his life. He wanted to throw up for reasons unrelated to alcohol. He wanted to drink. He wanted to lie down in the dark for a while.

“What happened, son?”

Kevin folded in on himself. “I don’t know,” he responded. Truthfully. “You canceled practice.”

Wymack hesitated, stunned. “I did. I was in a crash. Nothing bad, thanks for asking.” Kevin didn’t react to the joke. “My car had to go to the garage. I was tired. I wouldn’t have been alert enough to do a good job as a coach, Kevin.”

Kevin shrugged. Wymack tried his best not to get annoyed.

“Our last game sucked,” Kevin said.

“As will our next,” Wymack said ruefully, looking at Kevin’s foot. “None of that explains it.”

“It does. It does.” It has to. What other explanation was there? That Kevin didn’t know how to live off the field? That he hadn’t had anyone to call when he needed help and that’s why he’d needed help in the first place? That he wanted the nest back? That he was so scared of the nest it kept him awake at night? That it had been months since someone last told him that the weather sure was nice, let alone asked him how he was? 

Wymack sighed. He placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “The doctor said it’ll heal soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Yes soon enough. When it needs to.”

“I just got a little drunk.” Kevin looked up at Wymack. He tried to smile. “I’m a university student. It’s what we do, you know.” Neither of them were convinced. Kevin continued. “I didn’t want to get lazy. I wanted to go to the gym. I messed up once I got there. Dropped a stupid weight. That’s all.”

“That’s a lot. You know that was a dumb call to make.” 

Kevin shrugged again. The vault his words had come from was empty for tonight. Wymack seemed to sense this. He stared at the carpet. Saw or didn’t see the stains. Kevin couldn’t tell by his expressions. 

“I’m sorry, Kev.” The abbreviation of his name lay uneasy in his mouth, but not, Kevin realised, as uneasy as it once would have. The realization carried weight with it. There was someone next to him on the couch now. It wasn’t the same as being in the nest, and it also wasn’t the same as actually having friends. But it was someone. It was a living being thinking about him, flesh and blood sitting on the cushions. 

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. 

“It’s okay.” Wymack looked around the room. He visualised Bee’s contact in his phone. 

“Its going to be okay,” he repeated. There was no response.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback is welcome!


End file.
